Page 41 of Off the Rim
So I release his hand and stand, silently bringing an end to our night.
"Thanks for coming over. We should do this again sometime."
"Yeah, definitely. Thanks for having me, and for the talk."
If I'm not mistaken, Marcus' eyes cut to my crotch for a long moment before he stands, ears red. Picking up the pizza box, he steps around me towards the kitchen.
"I'll clean up."
"That's alright. I'll drop this box in one of the larger bins downstairs so you don't have to worry about it later."
"I have a cleaner."
"Of course you do," he says sardonically. He keeps the pizza box in his hands as he makes his way to the door. He's trying to get out of here, to avoid me. I'm desperate to know if he's trying to hide what I think he is. The same problem currently growing in my own pants.
Behave, Ashton. If he wanted you, he'd say so. I think. I hope.
You have to prove you're trustworthy first.
"Oh, hey Marcus?" I call out to him when he's halfway to the elevator bank.
"Yeah?"
"My dad… he's trying to cause problems. I don't know why. But I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't get in our way."
He nods like he understands. I hope he knows how serious I am. I'll give it all up to make sure he gets his chance.
Mopping sweat from my brow, I steal another glance at Marcus in the mirror. He's at the bench press next to me, as focused as ever. With each controlled lift, his muscles flex and bulge. There's something mesmerizing about the way he moves. His intent and focus, his strength and determination to push himself harder. And then there are the muscles, glistening with sweat, veins popping.
My mouth is dry. I'm sweating more from watching him than I am from my own workout. The kettlebell I was using hangs limply between my legs, unlike my dick, which is going to become a problem if it gets any harder.
I should leave, maybe head to the showers. I've been trying so hard to act like Marcus' friend, even going so far as to invite him to frat parties, much to the chagrin of my brothers. Anderson Hearst keeps shaking his head at me whenever I invite Marcus to wherever the rest of the team is going, even just to sit at the same table with us in the student union when we run into each other. He never accepts, but he's given me small smiles and nods to let me know he sees and appreciates what I'm trying to do.
"You don't need to do that," he told me last week when we were walking across the quad. "I appreciate that you're trying, but I'm fine doing my own thing. I just want to get through this year. Besides, frat parties are really not my scene."
"Have you ever been to one?"
"A frat party? Not specifically, but I've been to plenty of college parties. I can't imagine they're much different, just in nicer houses with shittier people."
Laughing loudly, I push against his shoulder. "You're probably not wrong, actually." Still, I want him to come to the parties. Mostly because I hate being there, and I know I'd feel less alone. But also, I like being around him.
"We're about to be in the thick of it. Our first travel games are coming up, plus finals. I need to focus."
"Would you want to study together? For finals, I mean?"
"Sure. Sounds good."
Except the two times we've gotten together to study, my brain has been emptier than it's ever been. And I don't think I was the only one distracted.
After spending our first study session in a cloud of thick tension we were both obviously trying to ignore, we tried moving our next session to the library, but it wasn't much better. We kept stealing glances at each other, and neither of us made much progress with our notes.
It's the same thing that's happening now.
Dragging my eyes away from Marcus, I walk the heavy kettlebell back to its spot against the wall. Stretching my back out, I catch Marcus watching me this time. He flinches when I turn towards him, beyond caring if he sees just how bad my boner is right now. The bar slips as he's trying to rack it, and I instinctively dart over to grab the bar before it falls on him. Breathing heavily, I guide the bar back to the rack, looking down to make sure he's okay.
Marcus stares up at me, his face partially obstructed by the boner tenting my shorts. I can see his neck move, Adam's apple bulging as he swallows deeply. I zone out on it, eyes blurring as I imagine running my tongue down the length of his neck, sucking the beads of sweat from his collar bones. Making my way down to that big cock pushing against the front of his athletic pants. What would he do if I crawled over his body and took him in my mouth again? What would he do if I lowered myself on top of him and rubbed myself against him?
He raises himself to a sitting position, and I shake myself out of the trance I was in. I can't be getting dickmatized by someone who won't let himself want me back.
